Wednesday, March 4, 2009

How fast do you bleed?*

I've always been quite the bleeder. Stick a needle in me and you can fill a blood bag quicker than Bill Sproat can take off his shirt at an Aggie's game (see my post from Saturday). When I was in college I used to donate platelets, both for free and for $$ (back when they did that-- pay money for platelets, I mean). In that case they'd stick TWO needles in me and I'd sit back and watch a movie for a couple of hours. Pocket change + feel good about yourself. And, the folks at ARUP treat you like royalty if you are a regular platelet donor. Really. 

Not a bad way to spend two hours. 

Point being . . . I'm a good bleeder. Big, needle-ready veins, I guess. 

Our stake organized a blood drive for today and Keri and I arranged to go together. After we got there, she was griping about me getting in the chair first because the phlebotomists always have a tought time sticking her. Sometimes her veins are hard to find. She doesn't want me to finish first and eat all the snacks . . . whatever.

So there I am, kind of gloating about being so speedy. The Red Cross volunteer tending my bleed is playing along-- cheering me on. Keri's volunteer isn't looking so happy about this quasi-competition. Sort of a protocol purist, I'm thinking. 

I finish my donation and I'm feeling pretty happy with myself. Out of the blue, Keri's volunteer leans over to take a gander at my donation time (down on the scale thingie). "5:34 seconds," she inones to Keri, "That's your time to beat." I blink.

"No problem," I think. Keri's never beaten me at speedy blood donating. 

Turns out I'm wrong. I've lost my bragging rights until the Red Cross comes to town again.

Keri's time . . . 5:18.

If you are able to donate blood, you should contact the Red Cross and find out how to donate. As they say, "The need is constant. The gratification is instant. Give blood."

1 comment:

Patricia Murphy, a resident of said...

I bleed not, it's true. Finding a vein on these skinny little arms is a half hour endeavor that leaves me bruised and a little shaky sometimes. But that's not why I'm writing to you, dear Draney. I tried to add you on Facebook and was denied due to your security setting. What's up with that? Don't you want to meet new people from central New York and elsewhere? Is there a story behind this wall of security? If so, do tell.